


cause i like the way you're calling to me

by birdbox (Bella_Barbaric)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Kissing, Pre-smut, Sexual Content, i basically chickened out of writing full smut because i'm a british middle class prude, is that a thing??? it is now, not sure how to describe this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Barbaric/pseuds/birdbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s about to kiss her again when she sees him get distracted by her bedroom. Amy just sighs and shakes her head while he looks around, waiting for the inevitable commentary on her choice of décor. Such are the perils of inviting Jake Peralta into your bedroom. </p><p>(Amy wishes she knew better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	cause i like the way you're calling to me

**Author's Note:**

> A reviewer of one of my Jake/Amy stories a while back said they wanted me to write some smut for them and at the time, I was thinking to myself “Yeah, that’s never going to happen” and yet, lo and behold, here we are-- with me writing as close as I ever get to smut for them. Them’s the breaks!
> 
> Also, I’m super bad at smut writing which is why this turned into more of a Jake-and-Amy’s-slightly-awkward-but-still-very-sincere-lead-up-to-first-time-sex story (slightly awkward but still very sincere: title of their sex tape, am I right?!) I set this in my head as a future/speculative fic set around the end of this season.

Jake’s hands are on her before they’re even properly through her door—sliding under her coat and around her waist. Amy kicks the door shut behind them just before he pushes her up against the wall, lips breaking from hers to trail across her jaw and down her neck. Amy’s hands find his hair while her hips push into his of their own accord. He pushes her coat off her shoulders (it occurs vaguely to the neat freak in Amy that she should pick it up and hang it up properly but she feels like that might kill the mood a little bit so she suppresses the urge.)

Amy’s pulse thrums through her so loud she can literally hear it. She lets her hand trail down his arm and slides her hand into his, using it to tug them away from the wall. Amy meets his eyes and bites her lip, leading him to her bedroom.

Once the door is shut behind them, Jake wastes no time pulling her close again; one hand splayed out on the small of her back, the other combing her hair away from her face in a surprisingly tender gesture. He’s about to kiss her again when she sees him get distracted by her bedroom. Amy just sighs and shakes her head while he looks around, waiting for the inevitable commentary on her choice of décor. Such are the perils of inviting Jake Peralta into your bedroom. Amy wishes she knew better.

“Wow. I gotta say I’m almost impressed. You’ve managed to make your room even more ‘old lady-y’ than the rest of your apartment and I didn't think that was actually possible so you know, kudos on that,” Jake says. He reaches over to the cabinet nearest to them and lifts one of her beaded lace doilies, turning it over in between his fingers. “There is a… _doily_ on every surface including-” he cranes his neck up “-on top of the wardrobe. Well, that’s nice.”

(Her mother and grandmothers instilled in her a love of fine lacework even if she never mastered that particular craft herself and so what if she likes her doilies? They _enhance_.)

Amy smiles sweetly and wraps her arms over his shoulders and around his neck, easing her fingers under his leather jacket and hoodie so they fall to the floor at his feet. She pulls him close enough that their noses almost touch, her chest against his. His arms circle her back loosely. “Shut up and take your clothes off, Peralta,” she murmurs.

Jake smirks back slowly, heat in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Amy sees his hand drop and the doily threaten to slip out of it so she lifts his wrist pointedly and wags a warning finger in his face with her other hand. Jake rolls his eyes and places it back extra carefully on the cabinet. The last thing she sees is his ‘ _happy now?’_ look before he’s surging forward to press his lips to hers.

In the end, the disposal of their respective clothes is more a haphazard joint venture; his tie ends up flung on the wicker chair in the corner of her room and she will discover later that they managed to somehow kick her shirt under the bed. Amy wishes she’d had the forethought to wear something slightly sexier than the practical black sports bra and plain panties she threw on this morning but Jake doesn’t seem to mind, looking at her with a maelstrom of emotion that she can only call awe and it makes her simultaneously deeply warm and deeply self-conscious.

Amy tugs him back into her space once they’re both down to their underwear, fingers skimming lightly over the bare muscles of his shoulders. She’s seen him shirtless of course (and even covertly admired him shirtless on occasions that she wouldn’t admit even at gunpoint to Jake) and she knows all cops have to be in shape but having the reality under fingertips is so much nicer than she thought it would be.

Jake walks them backwards and Amy yelps when he gently pushes her onto her bed. Her body bounces and he follows--his body between her spread legs and his mouth back on hers. Amy interrupts him only to sit up and pull her bra off over her head and tossing it aside because she knows it’s just going to get in the way before pulling his face back to hers. Her legs wrap around the backs of his and she thrusts her hips into the tent in his boxers, enjoying the resulting groan he makes into her mouth.

Truth be told, he’s far better at this than even she imagined he’d be (and whatever she did or did not imagine regarding Jake and sex will remain strictly between herself and her vibrator.) His confidence and self-assurance translate well in the bedroom, unafraid to shift his body and trail kisses down her throat and snake a hand between her thighs.

It’s actually Amy that can’t hold it together.

Even when his fingers are inside her panties and his mouth is closed around her nipple and she’s arching slightly up off the bed from the growing heat between her legs, Amy can't actually stop her mind from going a million miles an hour. Amy lets out a long breathy sigh and opens her eyes again. This is when the reality of Jake Peralta in her bed, pleasuring her, actually sets in for the first time.

Which is why it happens. A peal of laughter escapes her before she can stop it, and she winces at how loud it sounds in the quiet of her room.

She lets herself hope he somehow didn’t hear it for a second, until he stills completely over her body. Jake lifts his head from her chest, squinting up at her half insulted and half bemused.

“…Did-” Jake starts, before stopping himself as though to calm himself “-did you just laugh?”

 Unfortunately this only makes it worse. Amy cracks up laughing properly now at his face and the situation, covering her face in embarrassment. Jake moves up the bed and pins her on either side with his elbows, hands sliding under her shoulders so his weight is resting comfortably on top of her.

“Something about my sex technique amusing to you, Santiago?” he asks, smiling with her despite himself.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, in between giggles. “I promise I’m not laughing at you, I’m not!”

Jake turns this over in his mind for a second, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, and then shakes his head. “Yeah, you know, amazingly that doesn't make me feel better. I swear if you’re thinking about something you saw on Saturday Night Live while we’re doing this, I’ll just leave now.”

“No!” Amy says a little too quickly and Jake looks pleased. “I was just thinking-”

“This better be good.”

“Shut up. I was just thinking how weird it is that we’re actually doing this. You know, you and me.” Amy stretches her fingers out over his shoulder, watching them instead of him. The explanation she has in her head isn’t verbalising well. “I don’t know, I just never saw it coming, that’s all.”

He’s thoughtfully quiet for a few moments. “Well, _I_ saw it coming,” he finally says.

Amy looks at him, curious. “When?”

“When we first met.”

“We _hated_ each other when we first met,” Amy reminds him sceptically.

“I still knew it would happen.” Jake shrugs. Then he puts on that mock-serious face and deep voice he puts on whenever he’s about to tell a Peralta-epic and Amy rolls her eyes and leans back into her pillows. “It was a cloudy day in the autumn of 2007, and your first day at Brooklyn’s ninety-ninth precinct. Our eyes met across a crowded bullpen –you in your sensible pantsuit, leather brief case satchel thingy and that green pen behind your ear; me with my killer charm, good looks, and general bad boy allure- and that’s when I knew. In that moment, I thought to myself, ‘it’s only a matter of time before that woman falls into bed with me.’”

Her death glare is only slightly undermined by the smile she’s trying to tamp down (she can’t help but be a little flattered he remembered so much about the day they met, right down to the weather, her leather briefcase satchel thingy and the fact that she’d had a green pen behind her ear.) Amy tightens and locks her legs together around his hips and twists her body with all her might, taking him by surprise and putting him on his back. Her fingers slide between his so she pins his wrists next to his head.

“You gonna show me what I’ve been missing all these years then, Detective Peralta?” Amy murmurs, leaning down close to his lips.

Jake smirks. “Thought you’d never ask, Detective Santiago.”

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the Peralta-epic Jake tells—I actually have no idea when Amy (or Jake for that matter) started at the 99. I always imagined she’d only been there a year or maybe two at the start of season one but then in The Jimmy Jab Games they showed her in a flashback from 2008 so I’m guessing only the Powers That Be know the answer for sure. I’m totally spitballing on that one.


End file.
